The Climax Montana Complete Collection Read online

  Brenda’s jaw dropped, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. “You want your sister to live with Simon? He hasn’t had a girlfriend in years and years that I know of. He’ll do his best to seduce her, cast or not.” She looked up at Nikki with a slow smile. “Maybe you want Marci to forget her husband in the best way possible?”

  Nikki gave an abrupt nod. “Marci needs a short, satisfying affair.”

  “Then Simon might be just what the doctor ordered.” Brenda grinned. “It will serve him right to have a woman in charge, someone who won’t care if he goes on a rant. But will your sister be able to put up with him? No woman has lived there since Mrs. MacDougal died.”

  “Marci’s husband was a selfish bastard who didn’t believe women should enjoy sex. He was her only boyfriend and intimate partner.” She couldn’t help the sly smile that escaped. “I think my little sister could be a very merry widow.”

  “Oh, wow. Wouldn’t that wake Simon up!” Brenda put her hand on her large chest and laughed.

  “Will he be a problem?”

  “Oh, no.” Brenda waved away Nikki’s concern. “He’s all cowboy but he’s also a romantic. The big problem growing up was his practical jokes, but he’s grown out of that. If you need help he’s there, no questions asked. He talks a good line when he’s flirting and can growl like a grizzly with a sore paw, like tonight, but inside he’s as caring as his brother. Mind you, if anyone threatens those he considers his, he’ll go after them tooth and claw.”

  So, Simon was cranky and horny, and needed Marci’s help. Marci was starting to get cranky from being cooped up and was just as horny. Both of them would benefit. And she’d get her apartment back. It was cramped, but it was all she had. She didn’t want to buy a house unless she knew she’d be staying. If Marci found herself a cowboy or two, and had children, then Nikki wouldn’t ever leave. Now that mom was gone, all they had was each other.

  “I’ll suggest it to Marci during my supper break. I expect she’ll be back with me, bag all packed.”

  “Warn her that he lives in the original MacDougal cabin. It’s got plumbing and electricity, including a washing machine and dryer, but Simon cooks on a wood stove. There’s no microwave, either.”

  “Believe it or not, Brenda, that’s great news. Marci loves old things and will be excited to live in a rustic cabin.”

  “Can she cook?”

  Nikki winced. Until Marci moved in she was making do with grilled cheese and things from cans or bottles. It was a great day when a patient brought food as a gift.

  “Marci got the domestic gene that skipped past me. She can cook very well, along with sewing, knitting, gardening, and all sorts of other home skills. She loves restoring old things and she needs something to challenge her.”

  Brenda tilted her head and gave Nikki a sly look. “If she can do all that, likes history, and enjoys the bedroom, Simon might never let her go. Lance would want her as well.”

  Nikki hesitated. The clinic was so busy she hadn’t yet gone through all the patient files, just the ones for the people who’d come in the door.

  “Lance?”

  “He and Simon are twins, not that they look it. Simon can be loud while Lance is quiet and intense. He’s spending the winter doing his magic with horses at a huge ranch down in Texas. He should be home soon.” Brenda leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “They come as a package deal, if you know what I mean. They love children but some city bee-yatch burned them years ago and they gave up looking for a wife.”

  A twinge of jealousy and arousal hit Nikki. Twins? Two men in her bed at once, touching her in so many places at once that she had to just relax and let it happen?

  But this was for Marci, who could use all the fun and attention she could get. Given a chance, her little sister could be an adventurous, sexual woman.

  “I want my sister to find a home where she’s cherished and loved. If it means having two husbands who care for her, then I’ll be twice as happy.”

  Chapter Four

  Eyes closed in near-ecstasy, Marci flicked the top of her tongue over the smooth, hard surface. It curved, and her tongue chased the edge, all around to the tip. She caught the last bit of chocolate peppermint frosting on her tongue. She sighed at the arousing possibility of spreading frosting on a hard cock, and then licking it off. Or even better, drawing a line of frosting from her nipples, over her stomach, all the way to the tops of her thighs.

  She might have to buy one of those tabloids at Tanner’s Mercantile. Usually one of those small ads at the back had information on where to buy a personal vibrator to relieve tension. Tension that got worse at the thought of being seen by hot cowboys.

  That was about all that would happen. They’d see her, blanch, and turn away. She opened her eyes, pulled the spoon out of her mouth, and tossed it in the sink. It disappeared under the mound of bubbles, making a harsh sound as it hit the cheap aluminum bottom.

  “No one licks chocolate off a person in bed anyway,” she declared, grabbing a spatula. “And even if I did, how would I ever get the mess out of the sheets?”

  She scraped frosting onto the last batch of brownies and swirled it around. She’d already frozen, unfrosted, the pans she’d made for the bake sale in Dillon. It was a fund-raiser for the Dickson family, to help pay medical costs for their two-year-old daughter, Amanda. Nikki told her that the family had hated to leave Climax but Amanda had required heart surgery or she’d die. Somehow they’d sold their home in Climax for enough money to buy a small house in Missoula. Until Amanda grew up they had to live near the hospital in case something went wrong. The town was still helping them pay off their debt. They weren’t one of the founding families, but that didn’t matter when a child’s life was at stake.

  When she’d heard about Amanda she had to do something to help. She might not be a mother, but her stomach and heart still twisted at the terror of losing a child. A silly part of her thought that if she could help this baby live, she might be allowed to have one of her own. And the way to make a baby was through sex.

  “If I had a big enough shower, I could spread frosting on a man’s chest while he stood inside it, and not make a mess.” She swooped the spatula over the still-warm goodies, inhaling the scent of Christmas. “I could bring a plastic bowl into the bathroom and use my finger to scoop some onto his…” she paused, holding the yellowing spatula in mid-air. It was so old the edges had cracked and it no longer bent very well. “His nipple. Then I’d use my tongue to move the chocolate around.”

  She bent her head as she worked, concentrating to make sure it spread to all four edges without going up the sides of the metal pan. It was important to do things right, no matter how small they seemed. The devil in the back of her mind kept whispering how this might be the last time she was allowed to bake a cake or decide when and how she dressed. She shoved the devil’s words away and focused on a bright future.

  “This time, I want a man with chest hair. One tall enough that I don’t have to bend over to put my teeth on his nipple.”

  Her own rose in response to the thought. Ted had never taken her nipple in his mouth. On their wedding night he’d made her take her clothes off and stand in front of him. Instead of smiling in anticipation or appreciation he’d curled his lip and said he expected her to keep herself covered. Then he’d done his duty and walked out.

  Who took adjoining hotel rooms on their wedding night? Ted Grant, that’s who! Her late lunch began curdling in her gut. Instead of licking the spatula as usual, she tossed it after the spoon. Bubbles flew onto the plywood backsplash, adding to the faded map of older stains.

  The apartment was clean when Marci had arrived, but she’d spent the first week scrubbing anyway. Nikki agreed that the orange shag carpet was a breeding ground for so many things that they both wore shoes or slippers all the time. But there was nothing under it but a plywood subfloor, and little under that but the garage roof. They needed something to help insulate the floor and it was, after all, only temporary.

&nbs
p; She briskly washed the few dishes, rinsed, and stacked them on a tea towel. It entirely covered the only counter space along the short kitchen wall. When she moved in she’d known living with Nikki was temporary, but she was in too much shock to think farther than a few minutes ahead. After a week she’d been able to think in terms of days. She was now thinking of her future, if she was allowed to have one.

  Enough! It was time to move on, to stop hiding away just in case. She was safe. No one back East knew she was here, except her lawyer. Tomorrow she would walk down the stairs that led from the driveway to the apartment, and she would do it in the daylight. She was a grown woman, a widow. No man could tell her where she could go, when, what to wear, or how she must act when she got there.

  The harsh bbrrring of the telephone made her jump. She whirled around and pressed her bottom against the cupboard drawers as if they could protect her. Nikki was at the clinic so the phone should not ring. The last few times it rang she’d ignored it. When Nikki never mentioned missing a call, she knew they were after her.

  The second ring sounded louder, more forceful than the first. It echoed around the sparse room. Marci held her hands out, fingers spread, and breathed. Then she took the three steps to the wall. The third ring sounded furious. She had to answer it and stop the calls. What if Nikki answered and the police told her to bring Marci to the local law?

  She could do this. No one knew she was here, they were only checking in case. She picked up the heavy black receiver. The fewer words, the better. She coughed, cleared her throat, and lowered her voice.

  “Yep?”

  “Good afternoon. I would like to speak to Mrs. Ted Grant, please.”

  Marci stepped back, dropping the phone as if it was a snake. The black receiver smashed against the wall before swinging back and forth, hanging by its black cord. It made a rattling sound as it scraped against the grooves in the fake knotty pine paneling.

  If she didn’t prove to the official-sounding man that she wasn’t here, he would keep calling. He might even send someone out to check on her. She had to be tough. Marci couldn’t do this, but Billie Rose, her long-ago neighbor from Alabama, could. She closed her eyes and pretended to be the hard-looking bleached blonde.

  “Dayam,” she swore into the receiver when she picked it up, “Ah broke ma nay-al! Like, who’re you askin’ fer, agin’?”

  “Mrs. Ted Grant. She may have gone back to her maiden name, Marci Meshevski.”

  “Who the hey-all is tha-yat?”

  “This is very important Miss…what is your name?”

  “Billie Rose, not tha-yat it’s any of yer bizniss. And who the hey-all are yew?”

  Marci stuck one hip out and jammed her fist on it, just like she’d seen the woman do many times. She was really getting into sticking it to the cop or whoever he was.

  “My name is Jones. Edgar Jones. Are you sure there’s nobody by that name in town?”

  “Duh! Mister, Ah’ve lived here fer years and I ain’t never met nobody with them nay-ams. Naow Ah’ve got hogs ta feed, so if ye ain’t gonna send me no money, Ah ain’t got no time for yer.”

  He cleared his throat. “There could be a reward for information.”

  Marci’s racing heart rate doubled. They wanted her that badly?

  “A ree-ward?”

  “Leading to proper identification of my, ah, client, and subsequent clarification of our business.”

  “Hunh.” She pretended to think about it. “How much?”

  She stuck her jaw out as she said the word to drag it out. All she needed was a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a bleached-blonde beehive on her head.

  “A thousand dollars.”

  “Hey-all, fer thay-at much I’ll drug her by the hay-er raught to yew! Gimme yer number. If’n Ah sees her, Ah’ll call ye. Ah always wanted tew go ta Vegas. If’n Ah see her, this betch is gonna be mah ticket to a good time.”

  Marci scribbled the information with trembling fingers before hanging up. She leaned against the slick paneling and slid to the floor. She wiped beads of sweat off her forehead with the hem of her T-shirt, then used the fabric to wipe more from under her breasts.

  Her lawyer must’ve been issued a court order to release her whereabouts. Jones didn’t say his rank but cops would know not to say who they were when talking to someone who sounded like Billie Rose. Hopefully she’d given a strong enough impression of wanting to find a way to Vegas that she’d scour the county for the missing woman.

  Nikki said townsfolk protected their own. Would they protect her for Nikki’s sake? Not if they’d never met her. Therefore she had to get out of this apartment and meet people. By the time the cops realized they weren’t getting anything out of Billie Rose, Marci would have friends in Climax.

  She’d spent her childhood as a poor, scrawny kid with hand-me-down clothes. No one cared that they were clean and patched. So much shorter than the rest of the class, too afraid of rejection to make a fuss, she’d tried to fade into the corners of life. She was wearing someone else’s clothing again, but it was temporary, until she could buy her own. She dug through the donation bag until she found a pair of jeans that fit fairly well. She covered her T-shirt with a thick plaid long-sleeved shirt. All her fancy lingerie, the only part of her assigned wardrobe that she enjoyed wearing, was gone. Nikki had bought her new panties but she’d put off wearing the bra since it didn’t fit comfortably. After all, who would care what she wore?

  A hot cowboy would.

  He would be tall, of course. She barely cleared five feet so almost anyone was tall as far as she was concerned. He had to be smart. No mouth-breathing, hee-hawing drooler for her. And he had to want to please her sexually. She’d been so horny that it wouldn’t take much. His mouth on her nipples would be a good start, followed by his fingers in her pussy. She’d never had either, but wanted both.

  She could do this. Her mind was set. She’d had it with hiding.

  The nervous tremors in her stomach were nothing new. The desire to get past them was. If she could find a reasonable man, one Nikki could vouch for, she would have herself a cowboy fling!

  For once she was taking steps toward a future she wanted. By the time feet shaking the rickety stairs leading to the apartment warned of Nikki’s arrival, Marci was ready. She’d changed, cleaned the wall, and was spreading frosting. The brownies would still be warm when Nikki brought them to the small clinic lounge to share. Marci turned, spatula in hand. Nikki stopped in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob.

  “You look so much better in those jeans,” said Nikki, smiling.

  “Thanks. So, was your shift, like, totally awesome? Or was it, like, gag me with a spoon?”

  On the flight to Montana the two of them had sat in front of a set of girls who chatted in Valley Girl-speak the whole way. Marci figured putting on the accent would show Nikki how much better she was feeling.

  Acting the long-suffering older sister, Nikki rolled her eyes as she dropped her keys in the carved wooden bowl on the hall table. Marci had rescued the table, and the bowl, years earlier, refinished them, and given them to her student sister. Part of the reason she’d followed Ted’s rules was that he allowed Nikki to live free in the basement apartment during her years of med school and then residency. It was dark and small, but Marci helped decorate it with found items that she cleaned, restored, and made beautiful. Ted didn’t want her working outside their home, and she had to do something with her time other than cook, clean, do volunteer work, and tend to her husband.

  Thank God Nikki had taken all the gifts with her when she moved to Montana. Otherwise they’d be gone, along with all the expensive, trendy things Ted loved to show off and she hated to dust.

  “It was more like gag the cowboy,” replied Nikki wryly. “I’ve got a stubborn man who insists he can live alone and do ranch chores when he has a cast from his toes to his hip.”

  “He broke his leg?”

  “Yes, and then didn’t bother coming to the clinic until he’d fed
the animals and shopped for ranch supplies.”

  “Wow,” said Marci. “A man who doesn’t think of himself all the time and has a real job. I suppose he’s married or had his sixtieth birthday some time ago?”

  Nikki hung her coat on the hook beside the door. She didn’t answer, so Marci started licking frosting off the spatula. What would it be like to spread chocolate on a cowboy’s hot body and then lick it off? Or even better, rub herself against him and have him lick it off her?

  “Simon MacDougal’s file says he’s forty, but he’s in excellent shape. He could pose as the Marlboro Man. When he puts effort into it, his smile would make a gal drop her panties faster than a bottle of gin. And,” added Nikki with emphasis, “he’s single, which is the whole problem.”

  A hot, single cowboy with a killer smile. The perfect antidote to Ted. She didn’t care how old he was. A touch of maturity in a man would be a nice change from the obnoxious spoiled child she’d married.

  “Why is his being single a problem?”

  “He’ll barely be able to walk with crutches. He will not be able to bend, which means he’ll need assistance to get dressed, to get in and out of bed, and there is no way he can work in a barn or ride a horse. He won’t even be able to stand for long to prepare his own food or clean up after himself. He lives alone in the cabin his great-whatever grandparents built. He needs a caretaker and there’s no girlfriend, aunt, cousin, or anyone else available. He insists on going home anyway.”

  Nikki ran her hand through her short hair and sighed.

  “The man will drive everyone crazy unless we gag him and tie him to the bed. And since that’s not ethical, I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.” She set her baby blues on Marci. “Unless you’re willing to take the next step and use him to banish Ted.” A sparkle appeared in her eyes as she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I’ve heard patients boast about what an eager woman can do with a man lying on his back. Maybe being in charge makes a gal wilder.”